The Parade Passes

The parade passes on to another town.
I hum the bass line, alone among casual shoppers.
Lately locked in beauty,
We are now, again, our sole selves.

The parade passes on to another town.
This is no time to mourn.
This is time to gather random candies
Forgotten about the street.
This is time to plan
For another, bigger, parade,
Passing through the city gates
Next year, in Jerusalem.

-- Stephen K. Roney